Perchance to Dream
by Tifereth Kantrishakrim
Summary: Inspired by 'The Prophecy'. "Robin raised one hand to her cheek, finding it as cold as ice. 'No, not ice', he thought vaguely, his heart shuddering within him, 'diamond. The Gem'."


You are going to get very, very confused reading this. But don't worry, everything is going to be explained in an author's note at the end. If you haven't seen the new episode, 'The Prophecy', you won't understand it – for those of you who have, this was inspired by that line when Robin said "We have to find this Gem and destroy it."

Hats off to Dusty, as always, for inspiring me with the end chapters of Broken. Go read her stuff!

I'll shut up now. Enjoy!

0000000000000000000000000000

Robin woke with a start, jerking upright in his bed, hands snarled and shackled in the twisted covers, panting and gasping for breath. He had somehow managed to wrap the blankets around his throat in a stranglehold; in fact, he had been so badly contorted in his sleep that the sheets were twined about his body, binding his ankles, throat, and wrists, almost as if some enemy had crept into his room in the night and bound him in linen chains.

Fear touching his heart with a single cold claw at the thought, he wrenched his hands free of the encumbering blankets, then reached up and loosened the coil that had wound about his throat. It slackened, but as he tried to pull it off, refused to budge – as though it had caught on something, probably the hook that fastened his cape to the back of his costume. Teeth gritted, he continued to pull – and still the sheet resisted, clinging to his shoulders as though trying to choke him in its encumbering folds. With a surge of unnatural fear, he tore the entire blanket from the bed, the force of his grip ripping it into a series of long shreds that fluttered past the edge of the bed and out of sight like swan feathers falling to earth.

He sighed in relief, sucking in a deep lungful of the frigid air around him – for though he could have sworn it was the middle of spring, his room had suddenly become so cold that he suspected winter lurked just outside his window, breathing a mist of ice through cracks in the glass. Every inhalation burned his lungs, thrusting a blade of snow and ice into his chest, and with every exhale he could see his own breath as dancing steam in the moonlight, forming obscene shapes that melted into each other like smoke before disappearing.

Looking up, he noticed that the window across from his bed was open, the curtains drawn wide, allowing the moonlight to stream into the room as though bleeding from a wound that had been rent in the endless night sky. That was odd – he never left the curtains open, never left that opening for an enemy to penetrate, the gleam of light that could betray him to a watching foe. And through the window, past the streams of white light, he could vaguely make out the bay that surrounded the Tower – though in the dim night, it seemed to him that the water was darker than usual, and the thought crossed his mind that it did not look like water at all, but blood.

With a sigh of frustration at his own idiocy, he raked a hand through his spiky hair, a nervous gesture that had become habit in the past few weeks. The green gauntlet that he drew back was beaded with cold sweat – droplets that quickly froze in the subzero temperatures and fell to the floor like a shower of hail.

A vague feeling of unease was beginning to stir in the back of his mind. Swinging his legs over one edge of the bed, he told himself that he was being stupid, that there was nothing more unusual about this night than any other, that he would go to the main room, get a drink of water, and everything would be fine. Reassured by his own stubbornness, he glanced down at the carpet below him – and had to bite his lip to fight down the urge to scream.

There, silhouetted by the moonlight, gleaming brightly against the dark carpet of his bedroom, engulfed in his towering shadow, lay the shreds of the sheet that he had torn off of himself. Or at least, some of the shreds – it did not look as though the entire blanket was there. Part of him thought, stupidly, that perhaps the rest had fallen under the bed, even as the rest of him stared, transfixed by horror at what he saw.

By some freak of nature and the night, one long strip that had been torn from the blanket had fallen in the shape of a winding snake, a series of distorted curves, jagged-edged as though sporting dagger-sharp teeth around its edges. And at either end, two scraps of cloth had fallen like snowflakes, twisted and deformed into the hideous suggestion of grasping claws.

There, gleaming innocently back at him from the carpet, was the mark of Scath.

Fear surged up in him, followed by a stupid, unreasoning anger, a need to destroy this silly design that plagued his nightmares and now dared to startle him in his own home, his own room, his sanctuary. With the petulant delight of a child, he leaped from the bed, being sure to plant both feet on the mark, scuffling his boots in an effort to twist the scraps of sheet out of shape.

The mark of Scath remained.

Growing ever angrier, he kicked hard at the strip of cloth that had bent itself into the curved rune; though the white line receded before his boot, no sooner had his foot drawn back than it took on a life of its own, slithering back into its original shape.

Incensed at this stupid sheet, Robin bent down, intending to pull it from the floor and rip it to pieces for defying him. Reaching for the cloth, however, his fingers encountered only cold marble – the mark, impossibly, incredibly, had merged with his floor, and seemed to grin up at him with a madman's distorted smile, promising to be there always, tormenting him, a constant reminder of failure.

Anger transmuted itself back into fear, and Robin backed away from the devilish grin made by the gleaming mark on the shadowed floor. Casting one last hateful glance at the thing, he turned and fled from the room, throwing himself into the well of darkness where he knew the door would be. It seemed to have vanished, for he found himself suddenly out in the hallway, facing a blank wall; without noticing or caring, he took to his heels, dashing through corridor and hall, taking turns at random, sensing the mark as a ghost, a gaping maw that snarled at him from pools of moonlight, waited open in shadows, snapped ever at his heels. He could see white wounds out of the corners of his eyes that he assumed were windows, the moonlight bleeding into the darkness and heaving, stirring itself to rise like a breaking wave from all directions, trembling above him, waiting, waiting, to crash down and drown him in an endless sea of suffocating gray –

Running now with speed beyond anything a human being should be able to achieve, racing against the darkness churning at his heels, he broke through another well of shadows, tumbling forward to land sprawling on the carpet of the main room, choking and gasping for breath. Immediately light flooded over him – not the leering white light of the grinning moon, but real light, warm golden light, the light of the dawn that he knew to be hours away, a gleaming radiance that beat back the shadows that still reached for him with grasping claws, but were unable to penetrate the golden veil.

He did not know how long he lay there, panting, fingers clenched in the thick carpet, bathed in light, hearing the impossible roars of the shadows behind him, incensed at having lost their prey. Finally, though, he managed to regain his feet, hauling himself upright and turning his face up to the dazzling light that had saved him from his ebony pursuers.

What now lay before him was undoubtedly the main room – the ring of sofas, the wide window that was now, thankfully, opaque; the kitchen on one side, the gleaming, expressionless banks of the stereo on the other. And yet, there was something different about it – it seemed to Robin as though there was a shadow over the walls, a shade of blue that formed into the merest suggestion of a spiral staircase, a layer of mist that swirled and distorted into the face of a raven-beaked four-eyed ghost that leered out of an ethereal shroud before disappearing.

Brushing away the thought as yet another hallucination, he shook his head in a vain effort to clear it, taking a hesitant step towards the sofa, dreading another disaster, waiting for the light to fail or the window to grow clear, admitting the moonlight that he felt sure would swallow him in its ivory jaws. When nothing happened, he let out a hesitant sigh, and stepped forward again.

A cloud of darkness suddenly fountained out from the floor a few steps ahead of him, shooting upwards and fanning out like some hideous ebon flower that thrived on the very light that should have dispelled it. Gritting his teeth, his hands clenched into fists, Robin jumped back; then he breathed a sigh of relief, as the column of darkness shrank in on itself, narrowing and drawing together until it dissolved into a familiar silhouette, cloaked in shadowy folds of the very night itself.

"Raven!"

The cry was torn from his throat, a glad shout, a welcoming sigh as relief flooded through him, a blessed calm that quelled his anger and soothed the fear beating a frantic taboo against the inside of his skull. Raven was here – he was not alone any longer, and Raven would help him, reassure him. He was safe.

"Raven, what's going on?" he asked anxiously, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder at the darkness that loomed beyond the open door. "What's happening? I just woke up, and that weird mark was on my floor, and I thought maybe you would know –"

He stopped mid-word, his mouth hanging open, shocked and horrified as for the second time that night he stood transfixed, terrified and yet utterly unable to turn away. Raven had looked around at him upon the sound of his voice, peering out at him from underneath the familiar ebony blue hood – but as he looked back at her, hating that hood for what it concealed, he realized that now, for the first time he could remember, he could not see her eyes. In fact, he could not see her at all – the hood, instead of casting half of her face in shadow, seemed to have swallowed her in its encompassing folds, so that all that was left of Raven was the cloak, fluttering and lifeless, hanging on the air, supported by the darkness that inhabited it. The thing that looked at him now was not Raven; it was a specter, its body concealed by the blue cloak, its face an empty shadow that peered out at him from under his friend's hood.

"Raven?" he asked desperately, what had once been a joyous shout creeping from his throat as a terrified whisper. "Raven? What happened to you?"

Four red eyes flared to life in the darkness beneath the hood, and a heinous voice echoed around him, making the very air quiver with its sepulchral tones. It was the screeching of claws on steel, the crashing together of stones, the shrieking of damned souls; but underneath the demonic cacophony, Robin swore he could hear Raven's voice, shouting, crying.

"The Gem was born of evil's fire."

Two pale hands emerged from the ebony blue cloak, the white fingers tapering off into dagger claws. They reached up, gripping the edge of the hood, clenching in the fabric that seemed to stir of its own accord like the ocean ruffled by a foul wind.

"The Gem shall be his portal!"

The hood was yanked down, and Robin let out a cry of relief; for the face that was revealed was indeed Raven's, the pale skin gleaming in the light that had suddenly turned harsh and cold, violet hair hanging down to just brush her chin, the demonic red eyes giving way to familiar violet ones, reflecting the world in their amethyst depths, capturing and distilling Robin's image until he saw his own face staring back at him in hers.

He started to step towards her, hand outstretched – to do what he didn't know, hit her, embrace her, maybe just gently touch her shoulder – but he stopped again as he noticed something strange. Though her skin had always been pale, now it was transparent; the eyes that had always been the height of enigma were now truly reflective, polished crimson mirrors in which all around her was reflected. Greatly daring, Robin pulled off one of his gloves and tossed it aside, raising one trembling hand to her cheek and finding it cold as though carved from ice.

_No, not ice,_ he thought vaguely, his heart shuddering within him, _diamond._

_The Gem._

Her hair – he moved his hand up to let her ebony blue locks brush his fingertips, only to find them cold, hard, lifeless. _Sapphire. Ruby for her lips, amethyst, her eyes – there isn't a part of her that's human anymore._

He ventured one last plea, a trembling, quivering breath of sound, his voice breaking in his throat and the shards piercing his chest; "R-Raven?"

She stared at him blankly out of mirror eyes incapable of emotion, of thought, of tears. And though the voice that issued from between her carved-ruby lips was now wholly her own, it somehow chilled him more than the demonic screeching ever could. "I am the Gem, Robin. The Gem must be destroyed."

He shuddered violently, jerking away from this monster, this thing, that had once been his friend. He held up his hands as though to ward off a blow, though the Gem – he could not think of her as Raven – made no move towards him, shaking his head as though by denying what he saw he could change her back into the girl he loved. "No."

"The Gem must be destroyed," she repeated. "The Portal must be closed. He must be stopped. And you must be the one to stop him."

She did not move, but Robin could feel her gaze grow steely, and it seemed to him that she grew to twice her size, looming over him, filling the room with her presence, tainting the air so that it tasted like bloody metal in his mouth. He felt something cold and hard in his hand – looking down, he saw his fingers clenched convulsively around the steel hilt of a glittering diamond knife.

"No," he growled, his voice rising in volume, until it exploded as a panicked shout, a primal roar that screamed from every fiber of his being. "No! I won't do it! I won't!" And even while he screamed at this Gem, this thing, his mind was racing – _of course, diamond, the Gem, diamond gemstone, and only diamond cuts diamond, only Robin hurts Raven – nononononono I won't do it won't watch her bleed ruby garnet onyx blood can't do it can't cut her can't watch _–

There was a laugh from behind him, a serpent's hissing that he barely registered in his inner turmoil, but before he could turn around and see what was going on, he saw a flare of fire out of the corner of his eye, and someone slammed into him from behind, pitching him forward towards the unmoving Raven-Gem, the knife still in his hand, scything a glittering arc through the air –

A scream exploded from his chest as the gleaming blade cut into the Gem's faceted flesh, not with the screeching of diamond on diamond, of stone on stone, but with the hiss of fangs sliding into their victim's tender throat, and he could have sworn the ruby lips curved upwards into a grimacing smile for a fraction of a second, too long –

Still screaming, he yanked the knife away, reeling backwards, shrieking incoherently to drown out the splashing of the ruby-onyx blood that poured from the wound and did not stain the diamond flesh, instead pooling on the carpet around the hem of the sapphire cloak – his hectic flight was stopped by a hand on his back, and hot breath in his ear; turning around, tearing his eyes from the upright, unflinching figure of the Gem, he found himself face-to-face with that familiar and loathsome cloth-and-copper mask.

"I know you are upset, Robin," Slade laughed, "but your friend there is right. To save her, she must be destroyed. And though it would mean the end of my employment – most regrettable – I will so dearly cherish watching you butcher your closest and dearest friend. She is waiting, Robin. She wants you to do this. It is your duty. After all, what price is one silly little girl, if it means the lives of billions of unsuspecting innocents? The Gem must be destroyed." He felt the steel-gloved hands on his shoulders, burning through his costume, turning him to face the dead-mirror eyes that watched him unrelentingly, uncaringly, without a trace of the living lights they had once been. "Go, Robin," Slade hissed, pushing him gently towards the Gem. "Do your duty."

_No, _Robin screamed in the silence of his soul, _No! _His entire mind shuddered, his heart failed to beat before the enormity of the choice that awaited him. His fingers clenched convulsively, trying to drop the knife; he clenched his teeth, trying to turn his head away, but the Gem held him bound in her depthless gaze. And though every inch of him screamed, though he shuddered and died in every fiber of his body, he saw the knife rise, glittering, gleaming, grinning at him with a demon's dagger-sharp teeth.

It hung in the air, the moon suspended in sudden shadow –

_Raven, no –_

Plunged forward, flashing, carving away a shard of diamond flesh –

_Raven, Raven, please, no nonononono –_

Loosing another river of garnet-gleaming blood –

_Forgive me, Raven, please forgive me –_

Rise up, plunge down – up and down – up and down –

_I'll never hurt you, I promise, never hurt you –_

Those lifeless eyes, without pain, without remorse, without regret –

_Raven, no, I love you, always loved you –_

Ruby-carved lips turned up into a smile, a useless gesture, without warmth, without light –

_Kill him, kill you, kill everyone, kill me –_

The knife aware now, alive, slashing, hacking of its own accord, tasting blood –

_Can't kill me, I'm already dead. Can't kill you, you're not alive –_

He was crying, weeping, moaning, and his tears were her blood, his groaning Slade's laughter –

_Kill him. I'll kill him, kill Trigon, kill Slade, I don't care –_

She was falling apart, dismantled shard by shard, crumbling as though made of, not diamond, but glass –

_Even if I have to do it –_

The layers of gemstone were splitting, revealing a darkness underneath –

_With my bare –_

Something trembling where her heart would have been –

_Burned –_

A dark form under the diamond, the hacking growing more frenzied, frantic –

_Hands!_

The last shard of diamond fell.

He stood still, shuddering, panting, moaning, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, the knife dropping from his limp and nerveless grasp, blood and saltwater in his mouth, trickling down his throat, drowning him –

The carpet was strewn with diamond fragments like torn-open stars, and yet there was something at his feet – something small and dark, trembling as he was trembling, draped with the cloak that had fallen from the Gem's lifeless shoulders –

He stared, transfixed, his mind shuddering and collapsing in upon itself, heart torn apart, soul shriveled up and streaming out of his eyes as dust that was washed away by his tears. The thing shuddered and stood, engulfed by the gargantuan cloak, looking up at him, frantic, frightened – Robin gasped for breath, but felt the air congeal in his throat, cutting off his breath. He didn't care. Heedless of the diamond shards that slashed his legs, he fell to his knees, staring at the face that stared back at him, half-hidden, half-gleaming in the darkness.

The thing, which had been hidden by layers of diamond, was a child.

The small, pale girl peered up at him, amethyst eyes alive with a wealth of fear, hatred, pain, a mask fixed to a face far too young to bear such a heavy burden. The Gem's cloak was draped around her, drowning her, far too big for her small frame; trembling, not trusting himself to speak, Robin reached down and brushed a stray lock of ebony-blue hair from her forehead. The Gem was dead – he was sure of it – he had killed her himself – and yet here, frightened, bewildered, but alive – was –

Finally he managed to speak, not so much a word as a prayer, a desperate, hopeful breath of air from a drowning man, the whisper of a river in the desert – "R-Raven?"

The child stared back at him, her face dark and solemn despite her pale skin, but spoke no word. Instead, she reached out and touched his hand where it still hovered near her face –

The world was gone. Robin was flying away, falling, plummeting into the mouth of the abyss further and further and always further from the last gleam of light and open air that stayed always before his eyes like a taunting vision. He was surrounded by sounds – whispers caressed him, Slade's laugh scraped across his exposed skin, rubbing it raw, the demon's roaring voice singed his face, Raven's gentle words a cool wind blowing across the burns. There was crashing, screaming, shuddering, a quivering palpitation in the air that invaded his every pore and became the rhythm of his breathing, shaking his dead heart in his chest until it began beating again, squeezed by the force of tears and released by anger's expanding fire. He was falling, spinning, falling, colors flashing in an incomprehensible whirlwind – violet in dead mirrors, in living eyes, the white hands reaching for his throat, white moonlight binding him helpless to his bed – copper hiding the white-burning eye of a cruel mastermind, but brazen gold in the light that kept demons at bay – a centrifuge of shattered moons and doused suns and Time warped and twisted in on itself, stirred by a white hand with fingers that tapered into sharp demon's claws, wrapped with the stranglehold of chains around his throat –

In a silent Tower that stood as a timeless sentinel on the lip of a bay that heaved and rippled as though stirred by a demon's breath, a scream suddenly rang out through the night. A half-robot, lying peacefully on a tiled slab in a dark room, suddenly jerked the wires out of his back; a green cat curled up on a bed leapt up, startled, half-turned into a tiger and fell back down; a pretty alien girl jerked up with a yell, blasting a hole in her wall with a bolt of green lightning; and somewhere in the cavernous depths of a blue-lit darkness, amethyst eyes fluttered open, and a white face adopted an expression of pale surprise.

Robin woke with a start.

000000000000000000000000000000000000

Okay, I'm sure you have no idea what the heck that was. Basically, everything except the last paragraph was a dream sequence; Robin was dreaming after the events of 'The Prophecy'. This is the product of serious sleep-deprivation, repeated watching of the 'The Prophecy', and a late-night brownie binge. I have no idea what half the symbolism means. Basically, Robin is dreaming about Raven losing her humanity because of her father, and him having to destroy the Gem to save the world. If you've seen 'The Prophecy', you'll know that Raven is the Gem. That's basically it – hope you liked it! Review, please!


End file.
